


The Worst Pirate

by sphinxvictorian



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinxvictorian/pseuds/sphinxvictorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little touch of Jack Sparrow in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Pirate

_"You are, without a doubt, the worst pirate I have ever heard of!"_

 _"But you have heard of me."_

With those words, Commodore James Edward Norrington had the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow arrested and taken to the cells in Port Royal’s menacing fortress. Never mind that the man had just saved the woman Norrington had proposed to a scant half hour before. His many crimes outweighed any good deed, so said Norrington’s standards, rigidly clung to in good naval tradition.

But, later, in his large but spartan quarters in the barracks, Commodore Norrington could not banish from his mind that one exchange of dialogue with that scum, "Captain" Jack Sparrow. That he was the scum of the earth, Norrington had no doubt, but the damnable thing was, he was attractive scum. What was the quality about the chronically inebriated Sparrow that made him so irresistible? Norrington was hard pressed to put a finger on it.

 

Heard of him? Norrington had heard of him indeed, and not just in terms of his piracy. But of his wenching, which was ineffectual, he had heard much. There was some talk amongst the rabble, reported to him by his soldiers, that Jack was also known to entertain young men more successfully. Norrington would have been disgusted by this fact if it were not for his long service in the navy, where he’d had recourse to such measures himself.

Now Norrington had him in custody, locked up in the brig; his fate no less than the noose for his past crimes. This afternoon the disreputable devil had put his hands on Norrington's potential bride, Elizabeth. No matter that he had saved her life, it was an insult to her person, not to be borne. She had pleaded for the scoundrel's life, there in front of Norrington's men and her father, Governor Swann, to whom he owed his most recent advancement to Commodore. Why had it given Norrington such satisfaction that Sparrow had not been killed by his men, trying to escape? Why did he now regret the idea of having to stretch Sparrow’s neck?

He thought of Sparrow lying in the filthy straw, those insouciant eyes closed, sleeping off his inebriation. That was it! It was those damnably dark eyes, so dark brown that they appeared black, the whites brightened by the kohl that rimmed his eyes. He had looked into them this afternoon, before Sparrow had tried to escape and had felt a stirring deep inside himself, a stirring that he did not want to recognize, having put such feelings firmly behind him long ago.

That was why he had reacted so strongly to the man, wanting to hang him immediately, even though he was grateful to the scoundrel for saving Elizabeth. Norrington hoped his destiny lay in marriage with Elizabeth and eventual return to England, as he advanced steadily toward the Admiralty, with her father’s help. Norrington stretched out on the bed, comfortably, in his shirtsleeves. He entertained himself with visions of Elizabeth's lovely face, the lovely dark blonde curls cascading around her shoulders, one curl nestling gently at the top of her cleavage.

He ran through the proposal the way it should have gone. He should have dropped to one knee, declared his undying love and then stood and pulled her to him in a manly embrace, looking down into her large blue eyes But as he gazed into their cool inviting depths, they darkened into brown black, and her skin grew swarthy and her hair darkened and matted. The rose like perfection of her lips changed to dark full lips surrounded by a moustache and a goatee.

Norrington should have shaken himself from the changed imaginings, but found he wanted to continue to see himself bend toward that full, smirking mouth, to feel it open against his and to thrust his tongue between those white and gold teeth. As he imagined Sparrow's lithe body molding itself to his own as the embrace deepened, he found himself in a high state of excitement and immediately sat up and went to his wash stand to splash some water on his face.

He convinced himself it was a fevered imagining brought on by the damnable tropic heat of the Greater Antilles. He took his new sabre from the table and began swirling it, as he had at the ceremony. He practiced for some fifteen minutes with the sword, until he was sweating and his earlier embarrassing condition had subsided. He summoned his batman and had him set up a bath for him.

In the tower of the fort, high above Port Royal, Jack Sparrow leaned against the filthy wall of his cell and played with the end of one of his matted locks of hair. The pirates in the next cell had finally given up trying to entice the jailer's dog, who carried the keys in his mouth, and the three of them were now slumped together snoring loudly.

There was a tiny window out of which Jack could see very little but the deepening twilight. The air was humid and the cell stank of every unmentionable thing Jack could think of – and he could think of plenty. It had been an eventful day for Jack, trying to commandeer that lovely sleek little vessel, the Interceptor, and then rescuing that tasty bit of skirt, and finally, being bested by that very interesting Commodore.

When Jack closed his eyes, the hardness and hatred that had suffused the young officer's face swam into his mind's eye. Steely blue grey eyes squinting at him in the bright sun, ready to condemn Jack to the gallows for his dreadful trade. The tasty bit of skirt, who had turned out to be the governor's daughter, had stuck up for Jack. Nice girl, wasted on that rigid lump, was his first thought. But his second thought was of that rigid lump. Behind all that correctness and contempt, had Jack perhaps espied a hint of grudging admiration? Then again, it could have been all the seawater in his eyes, Or it could have been the rum. The spirits had been known to turn his fancies once in a while.

He let his imagination run away with him, seeing the correct young officer with his regimental jacket and waistcoat removed, his breeches undone, sprawled out on a bed, that supercilious smirk on his face as he offered himself to Jack's ministrations. Jack imagined himself kissing away that smirk and availing himself of the contents of those tight white breeches. He woke with a start at the sound of himself groaning and a wetness inside his own breeches. He grinned, unbuttoned them and scrubbed ineffectually at his groin with a somewhat clean handful of straw. Tucking himself away, he blinked at the sun just beginning to hit the window and sighed. There was a dream that was not to be, he thought with regret. The Commodore, even if he were to do with a man, would not pick a pirate and a reprobate like Captain Jack Sparrow. He smiled wryly to himself and settled down on to the floor again.

 

Norrington's imaginings were not as easily quelled as he had hoped. He settled into sleep, willing himself to envision his lovely Elizabeth. Again her face was supplanted by the pirate Sparrow, dark eyes flashing and that insolent grin on his face. Norrington tried to blink it away, but all unbidden the vision came of Jack sitting on the edge of his bed, stinking of the cells, his hands reaching under the bedclothes to take hold of Norrington and...

Norrington gave up and reached his own hand down to ease the ache. In a few minutes he was arcing up off the bed, as he climaxed to the vision of Jack's mouth on him, the knowing, sensual eyes gazing up at him as the lips worked up and down, up and down...

But the release did not satisfy nor quell the longing that had risen in him. As though sleepwalking, he rose and dressed himself in the one pair of civilian clothes he owned, and snuck around the courtyard and into the cells.

Jack had just drifted into an uneasy sleep, troubled by visions of himself abandoned again upon the island. This time there was no rum, and no means of escape whatsoever. He watched forlornly as his beloved ship, the Black Pearl, sailed off into the sunset with Barbossa at the wheel.

Just as he was discovering that he had been marooned, not alone, but with his nasty old bitch of a mother, and she was coming for him with a switch in her hand, he was jolted awake by the sound of his cell door opening.

He peered up in the gloom at the towering figure that entered.

"Get up, man." He recognized the disgusted tones of the attractive young Commodore.

Jack shook the fog from his head and contrived to set himself on his feet, using the wall to do so. The torch that Norrington held lit the side of his face and Jack tried to read the man's expression. The eyes were a little less steely and the mouth quirked in wry amusement at the place he found himself. His head tilted back and forth, as he assessed Jack from head to toe.

Finally, Norrington said, "Right. One night's reprieve, to be spent in my quarters. You will go nowhere else, see no one else, and you will bathe yourself. Follow me, Sparrow."

Jack was too stunned to refuse or cavil, and found himself lurching after Norrington, out of his cell and down the long stairs to the barracks. At one point he stumbled on an uneven stone in the courtyard, and Norrington rounded on him with a fierce, "Sssh! For God's sake, man!"

Jack nodded, still nonplussed by the whole affair, but hoping that he might get a decent meal out of it if nothing else. What was the man up to? Jack wished he still had the bodkin that they'd removed from his boot, in case the Commodore was planning his own private execution.

 

They reached the Commodore's quarters and entered. A large steaming hip bath was near one window and near the bed on a table a veritable feast was laid out for two. Jack eyed the steaming water with much suspicion. The last water he'd been in was the ocean and that had always been enough of a bath for him.

Norrington removed his coat and waistcoat before turning to Jack and commanding, "Remove those rags and bathe yourself, now!"

"Oh, now, saving your Commodoreship's pardon, but I never bathe in any but sea water. It's not healthy, so it isn't."

The Commodore moved closer, and removed the restraints on Jack's wrists. "Remove your benighted pirate get up and put yourself in that water, or you'll be back in that cell before the next refusal leaves your lips. And I'll make sure you get no rations for a day. Now get in!"

Jack removed his shirt and his trews and then his smalls. He could feel Norrington's eyes on him the whole time. He found himself slightly preening under that steely appreciation. He approached the water and stepped in, gingerly. It was warm as the ocean off Tortuga and as caressing as the hands of the finest wench. He sank down into it, marvelling at how good it felt.

"Soap is next to you there on the stool, use it."

Jack did so, luxuriously, beginning to really enjoy the sensation of the water, though it soon became brown and then black as the dirt of months came off of him. Some of the dirt was so engrained it would not come out, but he did his best. There was not much he could do with his hair, but even just a quick soak took away some of the fishier smells.

Jack stood up when he was finished, almost forgetting that Norrington was there. Then the Commodore, his eyes filled with the naked perfection of Jack, came forward with a towel. Jack was about to take the towel from him, when Norrington slapped his hand away, and began drying Jack himself. The towel was finest linen, and it reminded Jack of the finery he'd once worn when he'd had the Black Pearl.

Norrington was in a daze, still, pursuing his course, unable to understand why or how he had come to have the notorious pirate Jack Sparrow in a hip bath in his quarters. And now he was drying him, slowly, lingering over the more sensitive places. After a few minutes of this, Jack stepped from the bath and stood in front of Norrington.

"Well, now, Commodore, have you seen your fill? Is there more you're wanting? Perhaps a little of this " and he turned so that he faced away from Norrington, affording an excellent view of his very fine buttocks. A few saber slashes here and there only leant a certain dangerous beauty to Jack's lithe sexuality. He turned back around and came closer to Norrington, looking slightly up into that strong young face.

 

Norrington looked back at him, mesmerized by those eyes as one might be by a serpent. He found himself leaning forward and brushing the full brown lips with his own, as he had imagined. They opened readily and a quick tongue slid out and between Norrington's teeth, deepening the kiss.

Soon Jack's hands were on the buttons of Norrington's breeches, opening and releasing their treasure. Norrington gasped and Jack grinned against his mouth before he dropped to his knees and took the impressive young Commodore between his lips. Jack could feel the tension in the young man's buttocks as they clenched in excitement. Norrington took handfuls of Jack’s damp hair and worked in and out of Jack's mouth. Norrington’s member tasted better than any Jack had ever had, and its slim length was a pleasure to feel sliding along his tongue. As Norrington got nearer to climax, his grip on Jack’s hair became tighter, almost to the point of pain. He let out a loud grunt of pleasure and Jack felt Norrington buck and jerk and found himself swallowing some not unpleasant fluid.

He kissed the tip of the Commodore's softening member and then proceeded up his body to kiss him again on the mouth.

Norrington found himself at a loss. He had intended being the aggressor. He had been about to grab Jack and force him down, when Jack had instead taken the bit between his own teeth, as it were, and anticipated his wants.

Jack stood back again, regarding Norrington with those wicked eyes.

“What now, then, my fine Commodore? What will ye have now? Anything you want, you know. I'm easy."

“That somehow does not surprise me, Jack Sparrow. You were probably born easy."

"Oh, no, mate, me mum beat me every one of me young days, because I was a breach baby and nearly cost her her gin soaked life. So, what'll it be, then? You want to bugger me, or shall I bugger you? I don't mind, either way."

Norrington had not thought that far along in the scenario. Buggery was a far cry from anything he'd done with any of his naval colleagues. Not that the thought was an unattractive one, but he considered for a moment and decided it would be safer if he did the buggering. Jack could be poxed or something worse. So he stepped forward and roughly took Jack by the arms and turned him around. Jack bent over, saying, "I noticed a bit of oil on the table there, mate, if you wouldn't mind. It's been a while, you see..."

Norrington was unsure of how to proceed, but grabbed the oil and handed it to Jack. Jack took it and stood up, turning around to face Norrington again.

"Oh, dearie me, mate. Your first time, is it? Right, well, here's what you do. You take this oil, put it on yourself before you take me, see? That way, you slide in nice and slow and you'll have a good ride and my arse won't feel like a stoked cannon. All right?"

 

Norrington wanted very badly to glare at him for this, and did so, but it just didn't have the force it would have had in other circumstances. Jack turned back around and braced himself on the back of Norrington's sturdy chair.

Norrington used the oil on himself, a pleasant sensation, and then he parted Jack's brown cheeks and found the entrance, tight and slightly purplish. His slick member pushed against the tightness, much tighter than any woman he'd ever had, but soon the tip was in and Jack gave a pleased grunt. With his oily hand, Norrington reached around to touch Jack's slim member as his own pushed inexorably deeper into Jack's ass.

The sensations began to sweep over him, the tightness of Jack's ass, the feeling of his taut member in Norrington's hand. Jack was groaning luxuriously now, moving with Norrington in a lovely rhythm.

Jack, for his part, had not had such a lovely buggering for a long time. His last partner of this fashion had been a large, bearlike man, whose member had nearly rent him asunder, though it had been good in the end. But Norrington was long and slim and they seemed to be able to match each other's rhythm well.

A part of his brain was wondering, even as he came closer to orgasm, if this reprieve might be extended past one night. If all he had to do to stay alive was pleasure the Commodore once every few days, it would be no price at all to pay.

Norrington began to buck and jerk again and his seed released inside Jack. Norrington's hand convulsed on Jack's own member, causing Jack’s own orgasm to overwhelm him. Jack let go of the chair and stood up slowly, leaning back against the linen of the Commodore's shirt. As Norrington softened and slipped out of Jack, his arms went around Jack's chest and his face pressed into Jack's bare shoulder as a last shudder left him.

They stood like that for some minutes, then Jack murmured, "Right, mate. Was that what you were hopin' for?"

"My name is James Edward Norrington, I'll have you know, pirate."

"And which of those fine sounding names would you like me to use? How about Jemmy? Would that suit?"

"James will do. I hate diminutives."

"As long as you call me Jack, instead of scum or pirate, we'll do just fine."

Norrington stood back, pushing Jack roughly away from him. Pulling his breeches up, he went to sit on the bed, confused but keeping a wary eye on Jack. What had he just done? He had released a dangerous criminal, and satisfied his unnatural lust for the man without a qualm. He could never look Elizabeth in the face again.

Jack had wandered over to the table, pulling on his old filthy shirt and picking up a piece of bread and cheese and devouring it hungrily. Norrington watched the easy grace of the man as he sat, bare from the thighs downward, on the chair, legs wide, munching on an apple now. The dark brown eyes were amused, as they watched him, but there was a touch of - what? Sympathy? Understanding? - that lurked somewhere beneath the amusement. That was what Norrington decided he couldn't stand. He didn't want this man understanding him, he had to get this grinning criminal out of his quarters and back to the cells, where he belonged until he could be hanged. The idea of a rope stretching that neck he had just been nuzzling made Norrington slightly ill, but he quashed his finer feelings and stood up.

"Get dressed, Sparrow. Now!"

Sparrow finished his apple, including the core. Slowly he rose, and went to his clothes and finished putting them on. He tied his kerchief around his head again, and turned to face Norrington, who himself was dressing in the civilian clothes, pulling on the waistcoat, tucking himself away. He was unable to look at Jack as he did so.

“So it's back to the cells for me, is it, mate? Right, well, it was fun, dream of me sometime."

"The only dream I'll have of you is watching you swing at the end of the rope you deserve." Norrington had tried to sound as though he meant that, but it was not very convincing.

Jack narrowed his eyes at him, smiled briefly and held out his hands for the restraints to be put back on. Norrington replaced them and pushed Jack out in front of him, out the door and back up to the cells.

As Norrington closed the cell door on Jack, Jack smiled his brief smile and went and sat down, a little gingerly, on the straw. His eyes never left Norrington, who stood there for a moment, speechless, and then turned away and marched off. Jack leaned his head back against the wall then, and let out a profound sigh. His hopes of buying his life with his sexual talents seemingly gone, he turned his mind to hopes of another method. Though a corner of his mind, and a piece of his slightly black heart, would not let him forget the evening's activities with the young Commodore.

He would long remember the feel of those hands, the taste of his seed, the fullness of that member inside him, and it would comfort him during the days to come, he was sure. There was also a part of him that knew, despite the Commodore's hard exterior, that he would not hang anytime soon in Port Royal.


End file.
